You Love That Which You Serve

I once hung a jury for the better part of a week. I did so even though my gut told me that the defendant was guilty. But, even though I was fairly convinced that he was guilty, when weighing the evidence in a dispassionate manner, I realized that it was only my gut telling me so. The prosecution had presented the weakest of cases. There were several holes in the case that I could see and which, for some reason, the defense had chosen not to exploit. But still, my gut was telling me that the defendant had committed a crime...then it hit me. The defendant had, indeed committed a crime but probably not the crime of which he was accused...After four days, I finally agreed to convict the defendant on a much lesser charge. I did so because I was convinced both in my mind and my gut that he was guilty of that lesser charge.

During my time in the jury room, I spent eight to ten hours a day with anywhere from nine to eleven people yelling and hating me. The yelling and hating wasn't one-sided either. At one point I had to ask one juror to shut up and not be on my side because the only reason he could give for not believing the prosecution's key witness was that "he looked a little gay". Juror number four will forever hold a special place on my list of people who should die with festering boils. He was a pseudo-intellectual who kept saying, "it's a moot point" only he kept mispronouncing it; saying, "it's a moat point. By day three of listening to that man make arguments that a seventh grade debate student could rip apart, the only thing that kept blood from shooting out of my eyes, nose and ears whenever he spoke was the mental image I had of driving my freshly-sharpened Number 2 pencil through his eye socket and into his brain.

At one time, the following argument took place between me and mister "moat point"

"It was a GUN"

"The charge reads 'fire-arm' and the weapon was never produced so the prosecution could never prove it was anything other than a BB Gun"

"A BB gun is a firearm"

"No...a 'fire arm' as a weapon that uses gunpowder and fire is produced as a by-product of its projectile's means of propulsion...a BB-Gun uses compressed air as its means of propulsion and since no fire is produced, it cannot be called, 'a fire-arm'"

"That's a moat point...I could still kill you with a BB-Gun"

"And I could kill you with a pork chop bone or even this number 2 pencil I'm holding..neither of them is a fire-arm"


At another point, a very sweet looking little old lady complained to me, "Well, I'm going to tell the judge that I don't think you belong on this jury" . It was her misfortune that her particular statement was the final straw that broke my camel's back. "I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT BELONGS ON THIS JURY!", I screamed "Every single ONE of you answered the same questions I did during Voir Dire and every single ONE of you said you would not hold it against a defendant for not taking the stand in his own defense...and every single ONE of you, at some point in the last three days has said that he must be guilty or he would defend himself...so that means that every single ONE of you is a &*##! LIAR!"

(I might have over-reacted a tad).

I saw that little old lady once years later at the Cineplex Multi Cinema off of Grand Parkway and, when she saw me, she had that sweet, I-know-you-from-somewhere-but-can't-quite-place-where, smile. Then I could see the recognition creep into her eyes and that sweet face of hers darkened like thunder clouds as she turned her back to me and went over to her husband sitting on a bench. I stood outside the theater until the movie started enduring malevolent glances and whispering back and forth between the two. The old man looked at me through narrowed bitter eyes and I could tell he was wishing that he was thirty years younger. I vacillated between going over to them and offering the most sincere apologies for my inexcusable conduct or going over to the man and letting him know that the sweet little woman he thought he married wasn't quite so sweet after all. I finally decided that this was one instance when discretion really was the better part of valor.

During my time in the jury room, I could tell that what I was battling were deep-seated convictions. The people on the other side of the argument were all very fine and decent people. But it became more and more apparent, as we argued, that they felt in their hearts that their job as a juror was to convict the person accused of the crime. I had always felt that my job as a juror was to judge, not the defendant, but the case presented to me by the prosecution. If the case presented by the prosecutor was proved to me beyond a reasonable doubt. I would vote to convict. If not, I would vote to acquit. I was to place the burden of proof always with the prosecution and never with the defense and, even if I felt in my gut the defendant was guilty; if the prosecution had not done its job properly and presented a case proving to my mind that he was guilty, I was doing our justice system a greater disservice by going with my gut over my mind.

The basic difference in my philosophy and those of the other jurors was that they felt that their job as a juror was to judge the defendant. I felt that my job as a juror was to judge the prosecution's case against the defendant.

During those four days, I was tempted several times to make nice with my fellow jurors and just go along..I was told over and over again that I was wrong. I was called names, At one point mister moat point called me a bleeding heart liberal.(that was a first for me) But each time I felt the urge to capitulate, my mind kept coming back to a quote by John Adams."There are only two creatures of value on the face of the earth: those with the commitment, and those who require the commitment of others"

What it came down to in that jury room was a battle of values, my basic values and beliefs over the basic values and beliefs of eleven other people. A person's beliefs are based upon their values and, as such, there are many times when a belief is neither right nor wrong...it is right or wrong depending upon the holder's values.

But this wasn't one of those times.

What that experience left me with was the firm conviction that you really ought not to try and get out of jury duty. If you are a rational person who can look at a case without passion...the greatest service you can render your country is to serve on a jury. Unfortunately, most people who think that way are also very busy people for whom jury duty would be a financial sacrifice as well as a sacrifice of their time...and so, when they get the summons, they do their dead level best to not get on a jury. (My personal favorite was the man who showed up to jury selection with a "Nuke Gay Baby Whales For Jesus" T-shirt) Unfortunately, that leaves most juries filled with either people who have nothing better to do with their time or people who, for some reason or other, relish the thought of sitting in judgement of their fellow man...and believe me when I tell you that none of these people is apt to be sitting across from Regis Philbin holding a check for a million dollars with all of their life-lines still unused.

Ask yourself this. If you say you love your country and are willing to die for it...why do you try and get out of Jury Duty?

The next time you are summoned...go and serve

One Last Blessing

It's four in the morning and I've been up for the better part of an hour. I love this time of day. It is my hour of peace and rest unmarred by earthly care. For some reason, my thoughts always seem better honed and more clear at this time. My emotions are more crisp and I can more easily identify thier roots.

For the better part of this hour, I have been feeling an emotion that I didn't remember ever feeling before...it is a mixture of happiness and sadness and anticipation and worry...all of my emotions seem to be mixed with its counterpart; except one...pride.

Today is the day that my last child, my daughter leaves for college. In just a few short hours, she will step out of my door and, when she crosses that threshhold one last time, her status will change. She will no longer be a permanent resident under my roof. At 3:00 this afternoon, my Sarah will take her fledgling flight into this world.

Oh sure, she will return to my home from time to time but these will always be temporary visits. When she returns, I will be painfully aware of the ticking clock that will take her away from me again. Although she will always be welcome here for as long as she wishes, if things go according to the grand design, once she leaves today, she will only have temporary residences until she finds and makes one of her own.

For the last week or so, my wife has been urging me to find the time to give our daughter her traditional father's blessing before she goes off to school. I have, to her vexation, been putting it off. I don't think that she realizes what she's asking me to do or she wouldn't be quite so frustrated with me when I procrastinate exercising my patriarchal franchise.

Whenever I ponder this blessing, the realization hits me that this could very well be the very last blessing of comfort that she seeks at my hands. The possibility is very real that she will meet someone else to whom she will look for comfort in a priesthood blessing and, when I lay my hands on her head this afternoon, I might very well be passing off the baton to someone I don't even know yet but, somehow, don't like very much right now.

Sometimes our thoughts and feelings take us down a path that seems almost pre-determined...as if the course for them has been laid by a divine hand...and that's what is happening to me this morning because, as I sit here and steep myself in this melange of emotions, it occurs to me that these feelings would not be possible were I not a parent...this is exactly the kind of thing that Heavenly Father wanted me to experience...this is what is referred to as "a growing pain".

All for this mixture of emotions that could be experienced in no other way (and others like them) a Heavenly Being created this world and sent me to it. Because he wanted me to return, he devised a plan wherein his First Born in the spirit and Only Begotten in the flesh would take upon himself my sins...all of that effort so that I could sit here at four in the morning and nourish myself with this wonderful bittersweet emotion. And now I have to add one more feeling to the mixture.

I don't know when I've ever felt more loved.